


Different Strokes

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Different Strokes [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mild Profanity, Nudity, art school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Broke-ass art school graduate Akaashi Keiji couldn’t turn down a paying job in the art world, even if it meant sitting naked in front of strangers. However, one of them wouldn’t stop staring, but meh . . . what the hell. He was kind of cute.</p><p>Art student Kageyama Tobio didn’t realize that his upcoming lesson on live models would change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for HQ Rarepair Week Day 6: Travel. I decided that it definitely counts as travel because Akaashi takes a train. Also, I really wanted to exercise this pairing.
> 
> The second half of this story will come out tomorrow for Day Seven (Graduation/Free prompt), as this spilled over much longer than I'd thought because Saeko is a chatterbox.

Akaashi sighed as he read the bulletin board in the break room at work. Making his living as a panel cleaner wasn’t exactly a great use of his art degree, but it paid the rent.

Except that was all it did. He could barely afford to eat, the months his phone was shut off outnumbered the months he could afford service, and he hadn’t purchased a new article of clothing except socks and underwear since he was in high school.

He didn’t understand at first why there was a help wanted board for artists at his job until he realized that all his coworkers weren’t eating instant noodles every day at lunch because they were too lazy to pack a bento; it was because they were just as broke as Akaashi.

The flyers would leave the board like lightning as the anime studio minions snatched up side jobs. Akaashi had avoided it because he wanted to use his spare time to build up his art portfolio so he could find a real job, but when he couldn’t afford to buy more paint, moonlighting seemed like a much better idea.

One flyer had been up for a week or so (which was probably a record), and it was for a live model job all the way in Sendai at Tohoku University. He was about to skip over it until he saw the notation that all travel expenses would be reimbursed. He read the ad again.

It was no secret that a few of their less popular animes were going to be discontinued, and the one he worked on was one of them. Usually, the artists would all be reallocated to new projects, but that was only after a layoff of a week or two — unpaid, of course. Half the guys in the artist pool already knew what their new assignments were, which meant that Akaashi was probably in the unlucky portion who would have to sit and wait for something to come up. So, in two weeks, Akaashi would be out of work.

Suddenly, 5000 yen per day plus travel expenses didn’t seem like such an unattractive option.

Akaashi snatched the flyer and borrowed a mobile phone from one of his co-workers. He dialed the number on the flyer and found himself breathless as he listened to the line ring and forgot to inhale when a cheery female voice answered with, “Tohoku University School of Fine Arts, Fujita-sensei’s office. How can I be of assistance?”

“Yeah, um, I was calling in reference to the live model ad,” Akaashi said more coolly than he would have thought himself capable. “I was wondering if that was still available.”

“Yes, it is!” she exclaimed, more excited than Akaashi had been at the prospect of being able to afford food. “We haven’t got many calls on that because Fujita-sensei is very particular about his models. Do you have a Facebook page?”

Blinking at the question, Akaashi said, “Well, yeah. I thought everyone did.”

“Name?”

“Akaashi Keiji.”

On the other end of the line, there was the clatter of typing and quiet humming and hawing. Finally, she (he really needed to ask her name) broke radio silence. “Your profile picture looks very promising. I just have a few questions, some of which might be of a private nature. Do you have time to answer questions, or do you prefer that I email you the list and you send it back?”

“Yeah, I’ve got time,” Akaashi lied, but knowing he was close to a layoff didn’t really inspire him to cut his lunch break in half to do extra work anymore. “What do you need to know?”

“Height?”

“Last time I checked, 184 centimeters.”

“Weight?”

“Seventy-two kilograms.”

“Ancestry?”

Akaashi was finally starting to get the disclaimer about the questions being invasive. “Um, mostly Japanese, though my maternal grandmother was full-blooded Italian. I think I have an English great-great-grandparent somewhere in there, as well.”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed as she typed in more information. “I can see that in your bone structure. Do you have any visible scars?”

“No.”

“All right, your application is looking very promising. Now what we need are a few _au natural_ pictures of you: one full-body, one of each profile, one of your back, and a candid if you can.”

Akaashi blanched. “ _Au natural_? So this is a full nude job?” He hadn’t counted on that, but showing his junk to strangers for money would sound less unappealing as he grew poorer and poorer. “I’ve never really done anything like that before, but I recently graduated from art college myself, so I could do it for students, definitely.”

“Oh?” Her tone was far less formal when she asked, “Which school? What was your major?”

“Tokyu Geijutsu Daigaku. Intermedia Art.”

She was silent for a long time before she answered, “If you have a degree from the best art school in Tokyo, may I ask why you’re taking a modeling job?”

Akaashi shrugged to no one in particular. “Work is hard to find, and food is nice.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said with a firmness that belied her terminally cheery voice, “if your application is accepted, bring your art portfolio with you when you come, and I will make a few calls.”

Blinking in surprise, Akaashi asked in wonder, “You would do that?”

She chuckled. “Of course! Us art geeks have to stick together, after all. Being a secretary wasn’t exactly what I wanted to get from my degree, either.”

Akaashi found himself warming to this woman very quickly. “I would imagine. By the way,” he asked, finally taking this opportunity to remember his manners, “what was your name? If I have to call, I can ask for you.”

“Tanaka Saeko, but you can just call me Saeko. ‘Tanaka-san’ just sounds too old. I’m not even thirty, yet.”

“Well, then, Saeko-san, how do I get you the pictures?” Akaashi inquired as he noticed that his lunch break would officially end in about five minutes.

“Just message them to the phone number on the flyer. It’s my business mobile. You’ll get a copy of our confidentiality agreement upon hiring, but just so you know, no one will see these pictures besides myself and the sensei. Also, should you be hired, only students registered in the senior art courses who have signed a behavioral agreement of non-harassment will be permitted to enter the room while you are modeling. Do you have any questions?”

Feeling slightly less weird about what was essentially selling his body for rent money, Akaashi said, “No, I think you covered it. Just give me a few minutes to take the pictures. I hope men’s room background isn’t a problem, because I’m on a borrowed phone right now and I’m at work on lunch.”

Saeko laughed. “No, that will be fine. We’re more looking for good skin and muscle tone at various angles. Do you work out or play any sports?”

Akaashi sighed. “Well, I used to when I was in school. I was on the volleyball team, but it’s hard to find time to play these days, so I just do some calisthenics in my apartment to keep in shape.”

“Very nice,” Saeko answered. “My brother played in school, but he never went to college.”

Very aware of the time, Akaashi reminded Saeko that he was on his lunch once again, and the call ended quickly. Akaashi almost ran to the restroom and looked in every stall to make sure he was alone.

When he was sure no one else was in the room, Akaashi locked the door from the inside and quickly divested himself of his clothing. He blushed when he slid off his boxer-briefs, but he knew he couldn’t keep them on. Glancing around, he noticed that the ledge above the sink would be a decent place to set the phone so he could snap the picture.

It only took a few minutes, to his surprise, to take the required pictures, plus a few more to document the few bits that wouldn’t fit, such as his feet and calves. He sent a gargantuan photo message to Saeko twice for safety before deleting the damning pictures and the message history off his coworker’s phone. He didn’t need to be fired for sexual harassment before he was laid off.

Once he was dressed, Akaashi headed back to the workroom to return the phone to its owner, only to receive a call halfway there.

“I don’t care what he says, you’re hired. When can you start?”

Akaashi sighed in relief and smiled. “Two weeks.”

“Excellent,” Saeko squeaked. “Call me whenever you get a chance to set up a schedule.”

“Will do,” he said before earnestly adding, “and thank you, Saeko-san. I look forward to meeting you.”

 

The shinkansen ride from Tokyo to Sendai was shorter than Akaashi had anticipated. It only took a little under two hours to travel from one city to another, and he was ridiculously glad that his expenses were being covered, even from such a long distance. According to Saeko, Fujita-sensei had balked at the cost of the bullet train until he had seen Akaashi’s photos and decided he must have him.

So, for the next two weeks, Akaashi would sit for two different art classes: the intermedia students and the classical art students.

The first batch of students were from the intermedia class, who were going to work on interpreting Akaashi’s form in varying art forms, from manga-style to caricatures to steampunk. He wished he could see what they were drawing, though he didn’t particularly care to see himself slandered by bad cartooning, but it was against the sensei’s policy. So he sat in silence as he changed poses along with the chart he was provided when the teacher asked him to.

The next group was the classical art students, and these were the ones Akaashi really wished he could observe. It was what he had truly wanted to do, but he knew there was little by the way of career options available for classic arts, so he had chosen intermedia because it was practical. However, as he was barely scraping together a living drawing shitty cartoons, the decision seemed less pragmatic than it had when he was eighteen.

 It was only when Akaashi was standing with his legs apart, arms splayed wide and chin up, that he noticed one of the students scowling at his easel while strangling his pencil to death. The guy had super-straight black hair, almost childishly styled bangs, and a face that Akaashi would describe as classically Japanese and, incidentally, very attractive.

As he averted his gaze to the ceiling, Akaashi briefly wondered what was on the other side of the easel that could frustrate this cute little specimen into such an agitated state. It wasn’t hard to tell that this kid wasn’t the smiling type, but even the grouchy types with resting bitchface had an at-rest expression that did not exude frustration or hostility.

And now he was being stared at.

Akaashi felt himself blush as this guy openly gaped at him, barely blinking and mouth slack. Though not in the slightest unaware of his nudity, Akaashi was acutely cognizant of it as he felt intense blue eyes bore into his flesh.

It was a relief when he was asked to switch poses again — the last one of the day — and he was facing away from the broody guy.

Even though Akaashi was dismissed for the day, many of the students lingered to work on their sketches. He knew they were choosing poses, mediums, and themes for their end-of-term piece. Some would use pencil, some chalk, some pastels, paints, charcoal and maybe even crayon. Once they were done and turned in, Akaashi would finally be allowed to see them.

As he headed to the campus coffee shop with a chattering Saeko, Akaashi privately pondered whether that was what Grouchy McBlueEyes was scowling about.

Saeko bought him a coffee, and they settled in to talk about life after art school until it was time for Akaashi to meet his train. He decided that, while her personality would probably be cloying after prolonged contact, he liked Saeko and her genuineness. There was not a subversive or dishonest bone in her body, which was probably why she didn’t really work in the art world outside of reception work at an art school. A lot of the artists he knew (and worked with) had odd attitudes and diva complexes.

When he thought about it, his own lack of guile would probably doom him to a fate similar to Saeko’s, but he decided to take his chances on whatever reference Saeko might be able to provide after examining his portfolio.

The second day went by much like the first, with many of the students making their final medium selections. There was, however, one notable exception. On top of the staring, Blue Eyes followed Akaashi out of the classroom once he had dressed himself once again.

It only took a few moments with a second shadow for Akaashi to realize he was being followed. He was on his own for dinner this evening, as Saeko was busy setting up some event or another, so he took the opportunity to figure a few things out under the guise (albeit a genuine one) of asking where he might get a cheap dinner.

Turning around abruptly, Akaashi used what his mother had always called a ‘winning smile’ and asked, “Would you happen to know where I could find a decent meal that won’t put me in the hospital with food poisoning?”

The younger boy stopped short, obviously under the impression that he was being covert, and stuttered, “S-sorry. I didn’t — what?”

Akaashi chuckled at his discomfort. “It’s okay. I know about the agreement thing, and it’s really not a problem for me, honestly. What’s your name?”

“K-Kageyama. Kageyama T-Tobio.”

“Well, Kageyama-kun, I was wondering if you know of any good places to eat around here that won’t break the bank,” Akaashi repeated. “After all, you probably know all the good spots by now.”

Kageyama blushed. “The food court is open late. They have good ramen.”

Real ramen was something Akaashi hadn’t had in so long that the mere sound of the word made him care less and less about how much it might cost. Visibly brightening, he said, “That sounds amazing. Would you care to join me?”

Eyes wide in that disconcerting stare, Kageyama’s mouth flapped open and closed before he mumbled, “Sure.”

Akaashi knew he was probably being unnecessarily mean to Kageyama by prolonging contact, but it served him right for acting so weird during class. It surprised him how easy it was to dismiss second guesses when he considered the thought of having this weird kid stare at his dick for over two hours was probably less comfortable.

At the very least, this would likely prove to be an interesting afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written for HQ Rarepair Week Day 7: Free and Graduation (sort of, but it will happen). I know I said this would only have one more chapter, but I kind of liked how Akaashi was able to root out things from Kageyama, so there will be one final chapter, detailing the second week of Akaashi's modeling job.

Akaashi sedately sipped his tea as he watched Kageyama squirm across from him.

“I’m Akaashi, by the way. Akaashi Keiji.”

If at all possible, Kageyama looked even more uncomfortable than before, which made Akaashi smile to himself. There was something going on under that juvenile haircut of his, and Akaashi decided that he really wanted to know. Also, he wanted to know why this guy didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at him and then following.

Knowing his target lacked any sense of subtlety, Akaashi decided to use the direct approach. “So, Kageyama-kun, might I ask why you decided to follow me?”

Kageyama’s eyes shot open, and he turned a bright shade of pink. “I — I wanted to ask you if you could pose for me, um, privately.”

Raising a brow, Akaashi waited for Kageyama to catch on to how his comment came across and was rewarded for his patience. Kageyama buried his face in his hands and grumbled unintelligibly into his palms. “Want to try that again?” Akaashi asked, enjoying this far too much to help the guy out.

“I work slowly, Akaashi-san. Twenty minutes per pose is not long enough for me to complete my work. I can’t fail again.” At these words, Kageyama’s shoulders slumped and his head hung in some shame that Akaashi did not yet understand.

Now feeling slightly guilty about baiting Kageyama, Akaashi urged Kageyama on. “Fail again?”

Kageyama’s fists clenched on the table top. “This is my second time going through the final year of the course. I didn’t finish my exam piece in time last year, and I failed the course. I’m taking it again. I just thought if I had enough time with you, I might . . .”

“Might get it done this time,” Akaashi supplied as Kageyama’s voice slowly petered out. “How long do you have to finish your piece?”

Head raising slightly, Kageyama says, “A month.”

Akaashi hummed. A month was more than enough time to produce a respectable piece of artwork. At least one that is good enough for a passing mark. “Do you have any idea why it takes you so long to finish?”

Blue eyes that were sharper than Akaashi had realized shot up to meet his. “Because none of it is ever good enough! I paint a tree, and the leaves aren’t right. I paint a cat, and the fur looks wrong. Nothing looks the way I want it to.”

The defeat in Kageyama’s voice lingered long after he stopped speaking, and Akaashi finally began to understand. He watched Kageyama’s varying thoughts flying across his face as they sit in silence. Their food arrived, and Akaashi ate almost mechanically, his attention never straying from Kageyama, who picked at his own bowl of curry.

Finally, Akaashi asked, “Can I see some of your work?”

His question was answered by Kageyama summarily choking on his last bite. After a coughing and wheezing spell, Kageyama said, “No! It’s all garbage.”

“Somehow, I think you might need a second opinion,” Akaashi offered. “I spent four years in art school. I think I might know a thing or two, even if you decide not to trust your own teacher.”

When Kageyama still looked unwilling to comply, Akaashi sighed. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll sit extra for you. In return, you buy me dinner every night, you stop staring at me like a serial killer in class, and you let me see your work.”

“Y-you would do that?” Kageyama stared at him, blinking rapidly in surprise. “But — I’m not allowed to let you see my final piece.”

“Then don’t show me that one,” Akaashi relented. “I’ll see it when it’s presented. I’m sure you have a few extra things from _five_ years of school.”

Kageyama sighed. “Okay, but I should still pay you.”

Akaashi shrugged. “You don’t have to, but I won’t say no if you insist. A guy’s got to live.”

Though not smiling in the traditional sense, Akaashi could see that Kageyama was excited. “I have a couple of hours before the last train back to Tokyo leaves, if you want to get started.”

“You live all the way in Tokyo?”

Nodding, Akaashi gave their server a little wave and asked for a takeaway carton and the check. Kageyama paid and they left the restaurant.

They walked to the train station and boarded a train to the other side of the city. Once they were seated, Akaashi decided to find a bit more about Kageyama. “So, why do you want to be an artist?”

Kageyama gaped at him. “Why does one eat? Some things just _are._ ”

With a harrumph, Akaashi said, “I guess I never thought of it like that. I had a scholarship to Tokyo University to play volleyball, but I chose to pay my way through art school instead. Why does anyone do anything, indeed.”

Something sparked in Kageyama’s eyes. “You played volleyball? What team did you play for? What position?”

Akaashi smiled at Kageyama’s childish joy. “I played for Fukurodani High School, and I was the setter. My second year, I was the vice-captain, and the captain my third year.”

“I was a setter, too. I played for Karasuno High School. I was going to be captain in my third year, but . . .” Kageyama slouched, his breathing uneven. “I broke my arm and couldn’t play, but by the time I was able to, the team had already lost in the first round of the Interhigh and it was too late.”

It did not take much for Akaashi to imagine how that felt. Cold and empty were just a few of the words he could think of, but neither would scratch the surface of having something ripped away like that. No apology could slake that kind of loss, so Akaashi didn’t offer one. Instead, he asked, “So, I guess you passed the time with art.”

Kageyama nodded. “I broke my left arm, so my right needed something to do. I started with sketching, then colored pencils, and then paints. I like the colors, but that’s what’s _wrong_!”

“The colors?”

“Yes,” Kageyama spat. “They all look _wrong_.”

“Hmm, I’ll take a look when we get to yours. Do you still have the piece from last year, the one you didn’t finish?”

“I did finish it,” Kageyama said with a scowl. “I tried to throw it away, but the maid took it out of the garbage and gave it to my grandmother.” He crossed his arms and pouted. “Traitor.”

Akaashi’s brows rose. “You have a maid?”

“My grandmother hired her. She pays for my apartment since my parents stopped speaking to me.”

Not missing the way Kageyama’s voice cracked at that admission, Akaashi’s chest ached for reasons he was not truly sure of. He wanted to ask about his parents, but Akaashi could see that Kageyama did not carry pain well. It seemed to linger in him like an infection.

Instead, Akaashi barraged Kageyama with questions about paints and influences until they left the train and were to the front gate of Kageyama’s apartment complex. The unit itself was nothing like Akaashi had expected. It was doused in clutter, and a strange smell lingered in the air that he suspected was because of the mountain of unwashed dishes festering in the sink.

Reflexively, Akaashi winced. “I thought you said you had a maid.”

“She moved my easel,” Kageyama growled. “So I changed the locks.”

“Change them back,” Akaashi wheezed, trying not to breathe in through his nose. “I think tonight, we should probably start with making the air in here a bit more agreeable.” Kageyama’s face scrunched in confusion. “Do the dishes, Kageyama-kun. You wash, I’ll dry.”

Together, they managed to wash the dishes, corral the dirty laundry, and take out the trash in the few hours Akaashi had allotted for the night. His train would leave the station in about a half hour, but the soreness of his muscles from prolonged posing and the strain of heavy housework made him want to fall asleep on the nearest available clean surface.

“I should get going,” Akaashi hinted as he rubbed his aching shoulder.

Kageyama scratched the nape of his neck and looked at his shoes. “You can stay here if you want.”

Akaashi smiled weakly. “Only if we open the windows.”

Every limb of Akaashi’s body ached when he pulled himself out of the futon he inhabited next to Kageyama. He missed his own bed desperately and wanted to skip the day’s modeling session, but instead, he lolled his head over to see if Kageyama was awake, only to find the other futon empty.

“Kageyama?” he groaned as he stumbled to his feet and out of the tiny bedroom. “What time is it?”

When he didn’t receive an answer, Akaashi padded into the kitchen and found his quarry, furiously scribbling a piece of charcoal over paper. He was surprised to see that the figure on the page was himself, sleeping. There was no other word he could conceive of except striking. “Your strokes are amazing.”

Kageyama jolted at the sound of Akaashi’s voice and dropped his charcoal. He scrambled to cover the drawing, but in the absence of anything to mask it, he threw it over his shoulder in panic. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I thought the point was for me to see your work so I can help you figure out your problem,” Akaashi said, trying to keep a chuckle out of his voice. “And I am pretty sure that wasn’t your final, so I think I’m allowed to see that one.”

Reddening, Kageyama shook his head. “I didn’t mean to watch you while you were sleeping. Your face is . . .  gwah.”

Akaashi did not bother to ask what that meant as he plucked the drawing off the floor. “So you chose a medium without color. You really aren’t confident about your coloring, are you?”

An argument withered and died on Kageyama’s face. He dejectedly lowered his head. “No, I’m not.”

Akaashi considered the wilting boy in front of him, with his churlish demeanor and obliviousness, and started to piece together some things. “You can tell me about it when you’re ready. For now, how about we look at a few things.”

Kageyama nodded and led Akaashi back to his bedroom and the small closet. There were no clothes inside (which Akaashi had figured anyway, based on the amount of dirty laundry on the floor), but it was almost completely stuffed full of canvases, sketchbooks, and other art supplies.

Picking up the stack of sketchbooks, Akaashi handed them to Kageyama. “Arrange these in order from oldest to newest. While you’re doing that, I’ll take a look at these.”

As Kageyama did as he was bid, Akaashi pulled out one of the canvases. “And I’m thinking this is from first year,” he mused aloud at the bowl of fruit painted on it. Every art student had a similar piece stashed somewhere.

With his most critical eye, Akaashi looked it over for every important component he could think of. Coloring. Shading. Brush strokes. Perspective. Illusion of dimension. This early work of Kageyama’s was . . . “There is nothing wrong with this at all.”

“No, that one’s fine,” Kageyama grunted as he continued his task. “Keep looking.”

The next two — a majestic castle and a murder of crows, respectively — were equally skilled. It wasn’t until he picked up the fourth painting in the pile that he started to see why Kageyama was struggling.

There was a young man, who appeared to be of similar age to Kageyama, with ridiculous hair that stuck up in the back and a goofy smile. Every color on the canvas was a shade of blue. “Who is this?”

Kageyama blanched when he looked at the portrait. “That’s Kindaichi. He — he is no one.”

Akaashi shook his head. “You don’t paint someone all in blue unless they’re someone to you.” At that thought, memories Akaashi had thought long-buried bubbled to the surface. A failed confession and a broken bond. Severed ties with a team that would never be the same. “I have a few like that. Mine’s name was Bokuto Koutarou, and at the ripe age of seventeen, I really believed he was the love of my life.”

Kageyama froze. “You’re gay? Most of the girls in class talk about you.”

“Too bad for them,” Akaashi replied baldly. “Now, tell me about this Kindaichi.”

Setting down the sketchbooks in his hand with a sigh, Kageyama lowered his head. “He was my first boyfriend. I messed up, and he hates me now. We went to different high schools and we’re different people.”

Akaashi patted Kageyama on the shoulder. “That’s tough, Kageyama-kun. It’s really hard to lose someone you love.”

“Yes, it is,” Kageyama rasped before grabbing one more of the paintings leaning in the closet. “But I got over Kindaichi. That’s why I painted him in blue; it symbolized that his influence in my life was fading.” He showed the next painting to Akaashi. “He’s the one I don’t think I can forget.”

The face on the canvas was radiant. There was a smile that shone like the sun, hair to match, and all of the color swirled together in perfect harmony. It would have taken his breath away if not for the feeling that he knew this face from somewhere. “Wait, I know him,” he murmured aloud.

“You know Hinata?”

Akaashi contemplated the name before an idea occurred to him. “He played volleyball, right?” When Kageyama nodded emphatically, Akaashi recalled the connection. “He was in Volleyball Weekly in my third year. They did an article on the top ten up-and-coming players to watch in Japan, and he was in it.”

“Yes!” Kageyama cried. “He was so happy, and he — he thanked me for helping him get there. It felt like the greatest accomplishment of my life.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?”

The question, which was not much of a question so much as conveying that Akaashi understood, deflated Kageyama. “Yes,” he whispered. “He confessed to me soon after that, and we were together through my third year in school. He went to a different school, but both of us said that didn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Akaashi said. “Distance always matters.”

Kageyama curled his arms around his knees. “I know that now, but I had no idea until he told me two years ago that he met someone else, someone he didn’t have to travel a hundred kilometers to see. I couldn’t argue with that, so said okay and hung up.”

Akaashi sat on the floor next to Kageyama and picked up the top sketchbook. The drawings were all done with Kageyama’s high standards, yet improving in quality as the pages wore on. There were many of Hinata, a few of random objects, and a handful of landscapes. The next four sketchbooks were similar to Akaashi’s own pile from school exercises, along with a sprinkling of Hinatas and some volleyball scenes of a team in black and orange. Karasuno, he assumed.

The last few books are where he confirmed his suspicions. There were errors in some of the shadowing, tone discrepancies, and he could tell where Kageyama didn’t bother sharpening his pencil when it was worn down. One of the Hinatas in the fifth book even showed evidence of smudging Akaashi thought might have been from teardrops.

“You’ve been out of sorts since Hinata left you, haven’t you? That’s when your coloring started to go strange?”

“Yes.”

Akaashi considered putting an arm around Kageyama before coming to the conclusion that it would make both of them uncomfortable. Instead, he pulled out the rest of the canvases and asked which ones were from his post-Hinata era. The most bizarre example of Kageyama’s problem was a picture of a grassy knoll, except the leaves were red and the grass blue, with a bright purple sky. Technically, it was striking, but the colors itched of being out of place.

“You don’t need a teacher, Kageyama,” Akaashi said. “You need to move on from Hinata. I think you’ll figure a lot of stuff out after that.”

Kageyama’s face darkened. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then stop wallowing in it. When’s the last time you even had those kinds of thoughts about another person?” When Kageyama didn’t answer, it was as plain as a reply to Akaashi. “Didn’t think so. That’s not how it works. Special people don’t just find you and declare their undying love. You have to work for it.”

“Is that how you got over your Bokuto?”

Akaashi laughed humorlessly. “Sort of. I just went to college and had way too much sex with people I didn’t know until I just didn’t care anymore. I don’t recommend it.”

Kageyama yelped before hurriedly cramming all his art back into the closet. Akaashi frowned. “You didn’t do that, did you?”

“No!” Kageyama squeaked. “I’ve never — no!”

More than a little bit surprised, Akaashi’s eyes widened. “You mean you and Hinata dated for five years, and you never . . . not even once?”

“Well, neither of us knew how, and it just didn’t seem important.”

“To you,” Akaashi said. “Wasn’t important to _you_.” At Kageyama’s puzzled expression, Akaashi groaned. He was an artist, not a relationship counselor. “Did it ever occur to you that Hinata might have been looking for something else but didn’t want to pressure you into something he didn’t think you wanted?”

Kageyama’s contorted face said everything Akaashi needed to know. “You need to clear the air. Call him and ask if you guys can meet up. Have coffee and talk.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to?” Kageyama said weakly, which  sounded wrong against the deep timbre of his voice.

“He loved you for years. Give him more credit than that.” Akaashi crossed his arms. “I’m not going to waste my time if you’re not going to do your part. Go talk to Hinata, and we’ll resume this when you have.”

Kageyama shot him a look of betrayal before growling, “Fine.”

Akaashi nodded. “Good. Now, let’s get to class before we’re both late. Tongues will wag.”

The day went by similarly to the first two, with the notable exception of Kageyama gaze boring a hole in the canvas rather than into him. The change in the routine began when Akaashi immediately boarded a train back to Tokyo instead of lingering for a meal with Saeko or with Kageyama, much to his belly’s disappointment. Thursday passed by much the same.

It was Friday after the session that Kageyama approached Akaashi as he was leaving the building and said, “I did it. I did it, and you were right.”

Akaashi gave Kageyama a half-smile and said, “Well, then we have work to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the 30 Day Kagehina Challenge Day 13: Nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god that this was supposed to be the final chapter, but character development interrupted me. So there will be a small epilogue after this. Thanks for reading!

The trip to Kageyama’s apartment was quicker without lingering over dinner, which they both agreed to order in. Akaashi couldn’t help but watch Kageyama during the train ride, because there was something unfamiliar in the younger man’s demeanor.

He looked eager. Excited, even.

Oh, one might not have been able to tell without knowing Kageyama better, but after seeing Kageyama almost catatonic with self-loathing, Akaashi felt like this guy looking forward to anything was a step in the right direction.

Kageyama ordered their food on his phone when they arrived at the train station, and judging by the fact that it arrived ten minutes after they got to the apartment, he had timed this particular sequence several times before.

Akaashi preferred to eat in silence, and so did Kageyama. A replay of the midday news played unnoticed on the television while they sat in the freshly cleaned living room. It wasn’t until they were packing up the remnants of their Thai that Akaashi remarked, “So, you must have been bored.”

Shaking his head, Kageyama said, “I let the maid back in. She yelled at me.”

“Good.” Akaashi felt the twitch of a smile at the thought. “Now, if she touches your stuff again, just ask her not to like a non-psychopath. There were demons living in your sink.”

Flushing, Kageyama was overly aggressive in throwing the used takeaway boxes in the garbage. “I didn’t want you to run away.”

“I won’t,” Akaashi replied truthfully. “I really want to see what you can do when you’re at your best. You had to have absorbed something in the past two years besides screwy ways to color grass.”

The sketchbook Kageyama had moved to pick up flew out of his hands, and Akaashi couldn’t stifle a chuckle. “Calm down, Kageyama-kun. I’m not judging you in a bad way. I’m just really interested in seeing what you can do now that you’ve cleared the air with Hinata-kun.”

Kageyama’s expression brightened at the mention of Hinata. “He was really happy that I wanted to talk. Neither of us liked not speaking.” He let out a weary sigh. “You were right. He wasn’t happy because of sex. Not because we weren’t having it, but because I would never talk about it.”

Nodding, Akaashi decided against an ‘I told you so.’ Instead, he looked around the room and asked, “So, where do you want to do this? Which poses did you want to do?”

Kageyama scratched his chin, eyes narrowed, before he said, “The living room has the best lighting. I liked the pose you did with your feet apart and arms out.”

“That was when I noticed you staring at me,” Akaashi remarked, which was rewarded by an averted gaze and muttering. “Relax. It was only weird until I figured out why you were doing it. You were visualizing.”

“You understand me more than I understand you,” Kageyama said with a sigh. “It’s not fair.”

Akaashi shrugged. “Lots of things aren’t fair. For instance, for someone as pretty as you to not be able to smile, that isn’t fair.”

Deep red leeched into Kageyama’s cheeks as he stammered, “Pr-pretty? I’m n-not pretty. Th-that’s d-dumb.”

“I’m thinking not. You are ridiculously beautiful, Kageyama-kun, but also cursed. I bet you look like a murderer when you smile, and I’m guessing this isn’t the first time you’ve heard that, either.”

Kageyama grumbled, “No. Hinata’s said that before. He showed me a picture.”

Akaashi smiled to himself as he rose from the sofa and pulled off his shirt. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m here for the food.” He shucked the rest of his clothing until he was only in his underwear. For a moment, he dithered about taking them off, but he ultimately decided to do so, if only for consistency and Kageyama’s need for it.

After retrieving his sketchbook, Kageyama sat down on the sofa and spread an array of pencils out next to him. As soon as Akaashi assumed the chosen pose, the pencil flew across the page as Kageyama’s brow knit in concentration.

Nearly an hour passed before Akaashi’s limbs screamed with ache. With a groan, he said, “I need a break.”

Kageyama nodded absently, not looking up from what Akaashi was sure was his tenth page of sketches. Without the relief of constantly changing poses, Akaashi’s shoulders felt like they were on fire. Wincing with the effort, he pulled his underwear back on and simply lay on the floor with his eyes shut.

He didn't notice that the pencil scribbles had stopped until he felt rather than saw Kageyama looming over him. "Akaashi-san, are you okay?"

"Try holding your arms out for an hour and get back to me," Akaashi grumbled. "How do people do this for a living?"

A hand dropped onto Akaashi's shoulder. He would have flinched if he had the energy to do so. Instead, he cracked open one eye to see Kageyama probing his shoulder blade. "Sit up, Akaashi-san." Without waiting for a response, he hoisted Akaashi to a sitting position. He rubbed tight, uniform circles on the abused muscles with just the correct amount of pressure.

Akaashi felt like melting, and he couldn't stop the moan that popped out of his mouth. "God, how do you even know how to do that?"

Kageyama's hands immediately stilled. "Does this bother you, Akaashi-san?"

"It's amazing," Akaashi murmured, just barely keeping himself from drooling. He should have known that Kageyama, who was an athlete and an artist, would have magic hands.

For a split second, Akaashi contemplated what else hands this talented might be able to do and relished the idea that no one else but the two of them would know. He trembled at the thought, because it had been a while since he had been with anyone and he was fairly certain that Kageyama would let him do whatever he wanted.

But Akaashi could never do that. Just the idea of it felt predatory rather than gratifying. Kageyama trusted him enough to sleep side by side, so Akaashi owed him better than plucking away his virginity and leaving after a week.

Akaashi realized that he had gone quiet and that Kageyama was staring at him. "Did you hear me, Akaashi-san? I asked if you wanted to stop for the night and rest."

"Yeah," Akaashi said absently. He felt shame burn in his gut over his previous train of thought. That was not the kind of person he wanted to be, even if he was a stray touch away from being properly aroused. There was already a stirring down there he didn't want to get out of control.

Kageyama nodded, oblivious to Akaashi's torrid thoughts. "I have enough to get started for tonight." He scowled and looked away. "Akaashi-san, would it be too much to ask for you to stay the weekend. I will get you anything you need and pay you extra."

Though Akaashi had not expected Kageyama to ask this of him, he had considered offering it on his own. In his own way, Kageyama was decent company and had good taste in food, so it would not be much of a strain to stick around longer. The only reason Akaashi hesitated was the semi he was sporting in his shorts. But if Kageyama was going to stay up and work . . .

"Sure," Akaashi agreed before scraping himself off the floor. "I'll just clean up a bit. Mind if I use the shower?"

With a curt nod, Kageyama went back to his sketch pad and began sifting through his work for the night. Akaashi could see the utter concentration oozing from him and appreciated that his extra work would be fruitful. If Akaashi hadn’t been utterly broke, he would have done this for free just to see Kageyama lose a bit of his artistic constipation.

Akaashi left Kageyama in favor of the bathroom and couldn’t get into the shower fast enough. He turned the water on full blast and let the warm water wash away his errant thoughts. Kageyama wasn’t like the slew of people he had slept with during art school. Most of them were looking for inspiration, experimenting with sexuality, or maybe just looking for a good time. Kageyama didn’t think that way, didn’t act that way, and didn’t seem to process that way of thinking. Acting on his impulse to seduce Kageyama would’ve been reprehensible.

Yet here he was, in Kageyama’s apartment, naked most of the day and wishing away this awkward boner. With a resigned sigh, he gripped himself and worked his length until he came. A sigh of relief was swallowed by the water, along with the evidence.

Feeling particularly dirty — and not in terms of cleanliness — Akaashi took the soap, scrubbing himself bright pink, and tugged at his hair a little too hard while washing it. He couldn’t allow himself to act this way. He was a grown man, not an untried fourteen-year-old boy; controlling his hormones should have been second nature to him by this point.

Before he further embarrassed himself, Akaashi got out of the shower, toweling off before slipping into a robe hanging on the door hook. He considered putting his underwear back on, but the idea of re-wearing them was undesirable at best. Kageyama was not likely to mind sharing his things, even if he weren’t too busy to notice. Instead, Akaashi decided to raid the refrigerator for any leftovers that might be lurking, feeling more confident about the endeavor knowing Kageyama’s maid was back on duty.

There was a carton of leftover Thai from the same place they’d eaten earlier, so Akaashi plucked it out and microwaved it. Once it was ready, he pulled a set of disposable chopsticks from a cup on the counter and resolved himself to watch Kageyama work, even if he couldn’t see the actual pieces.

It was interesting to see Kageyama draw with almost rabid concentration. There was so much skill in those hands, but Akaashi sensed a disconnect between that talent and his ability to utilize it to its full potential. Aside from the weird, Hinata-induced slump, there was nothing wrong with Kageyama's art. His techniques were above average, but Akaashi wondered why his bowl of fruit painting was at the same level as the Hinata one or the ex-boyfriend-from-middle-school portrait.

Unable to curb the question, Akaashi blurted, "Kageyama, why are you in art school?"

The pencil froze mid-stroke as Kageyama turned to look at Akaashi as if he hadn't realized he wasn't alone. "What?"

"Why are you in art school?" Akaashi repeated, since he had Kageyama's attention anyway. "You could do anything you want, and you must be one hell of a volleyball player if your ace made it into a top ten list. Why are you in art school when you don't seem to enjoy yourself at all."

Akaashi hoped he was wrong, but Kageyama's crestfallen face told him everything he needed to know. "Is it because of Hinata?"

Kageyama shook his head. "No." He set down his sketch and buried his face in his hands. "Art is supposed to be about expression, and I know I'm not good at feelings. I thought that maybe if I . . ."

Something painful twisted in Akaashi's gut. "Kageyama, that's not —"

"I know!"

It was strange for Akaashi to watch Kageyama shrink into himself until he looked like a lost child. Which, in a way, he was. "You don't have to go to school for four years to figure that out. Just say what's on your mind, even if you don't want to, and anyone who cares about you will accept it and help you deal with it. If not, then you know who your friends really are."

Akaashi knew he sounded like a hack therapist, but stating the obvious seemed to be a necessary starting point for Kageyama.

But Kageyama was not done surprising him. "That's why I wanted to get your picture right, Akaashi-san. You just  _look_ like you know so much. I thought that if I tried hard enough, I could figure out what’s so broken inside of me that I can’t."

If the situation weren't so utterly sad, Akaashi would have laughed at the idea that he had anything figured out. He wanted to shake Kageyama until that ridiculous notion rattled right out of that mixed up head of his. Maybe that was what both of them needed.

“Do you know what I do for a living?” Akaashi asked suddenly. Startled by the question, Kageyama merely shook his head. “I do panel cleaning for an anime studio.”

Kageyama’s eyes widened. “You get to do that?”

Akaashi chortled. “It’s not really what you think it is. I barely make enough to pay my rent, the hours suck, and my boss in an asshole. Also, I _really_ hate anime. I decided that getting naked for strangers is a better option than starving to death, because I’ve just been laid off.”

Now it felt appropriate for Akaashi to laugh, but not even Kageyama could mistake it for humor. “So, please, when you ‘figure it out,’ let me in on the joke because I’m pretty sure my entire existence is a nightmare.”

They sat side by side on the couch, each in their own varying degrees of distress. Kageyama stared blankly at the opposite wall, while Akaashi’s head rested in his hands while his fingers threatened to pull out his hair by the roots. What a pair they made.

“Akaashi-san,” Kageyama said quietly, “could I kiss you?”

It took a few seconds for Akaashi to acknowledge that Kageyama was speaking to him, and a few after that to register what he had said. “What? Why?”

“Because I want to, and —” Kageyama turned a bright shade of red. “I noticed earlier that you, um . . . might not be uninterested.”

Akaashi felt like throwing up. “I’m sorry, Kageyama. For me to let that happen, it was rude and juvenile.”

“No!” Kageyama hissed, his face twisting into a heavy frown. “That’s not what I meant. I want to kiss you because it’s all I’ve been able to think about since I first saw you. I’m telling you because you said that’s what I’m supposed to do!”

This bluntness stalled Akaashi because he realized that Kageyama had actually learned something. Not only had he identified something that he wanted, he even balled up the courage to ask for it. He had been so fixated on the idea of Kageyama as a clueless innocent that he forgot that Kageyama was also a twenty-three year old man who had the right to fuck up his life just as much as Akaashi did.

“Okay.”

Blinking at one another, neither of them made the first move until Akaashi decided that Kageyama should do it. It was, after all, his request and his absurd notion of personal growth.

Akaashi hadn’t expected the raw hunger of Kageyama’s lips until they were on his own, their movement rough almost to the point of bruising. It had been ages since Akaashi had been kissed like that, if he ever had, and it elicited a hum of appreciation.

When Kageyama pulled away, both of them stared at each other in disbelief.

“Hinata never liked it when I did that,” Kageyama said, still not tearing his gaze from Akaashi. “He said it was too much like me beating him up.”

“I’m starting to understand why you never wanted to talk about sex with him,” Akaashi said, finally averting his eyes. “If that’s how he felt about something as simple as a bit of rough kissing, how were you supposed to address the more practical aspects of gay sex.”

The deep scarlet pouring into Kageyama’s face answered that question. “It’s okay to want something a little darker, Kageyama. And it’s okay to not want it, either. You need to understand that and forgive yourself for it, and maybe Hinata needs to learn that, too, before he accidentally fucks up a good thing.”

With that, Akaashi peeled himself off the couch and said, “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

 

Breakfast was very quiet.

Akaashi was the first to wake up, and he scouted out a few staples to make something passable. His treasure hunt turned up some instant miso soup, a packet of nori, and an untouched bag of rice. In about twenty minutes, there was enough food for the next couple of breakfasts and then some.

Kageyama soon padded into the kitchen, hair askew, looking around in confusion that the room had some other purpose besides using the table to sketch.

“Food. Kitchen. Cooking.” Akaashi pointed towards the spread. “I promise, food that doesn’t come from a delivery guy won’t bite you.”

Without waiting for Kageyama to re-learn the concept of breakfast, Akaashi dug into his own with gusto. He hadn’t known how hungry he was until he was on his second bowl of miso and his serving of rice rolled in nori. He would have to cook again the next morning, too, at this rate.

It wasn’t until Akaashi was finishing up his meal that he noticed that Kageyama was staring at him. “What?”

Kageyama’s cheeks pinkened as he glanced off to the side. “Sorry, Akaashi-san. It’s just been a long time since anyone’s made me breakfast. Hinata did it a lot.”

Akaashi shrugged. “You can’t write off an entire meal period just because of an ex. Somehow, I think Hinata would probably be angry with you if you did.”

“He always yelled at me for not eating breakfast.”

Deciding not to go down that road before they even started the day, Akaashi changed the subject swiftly. “So, you think you’re ready to start with the canvas today?”

Kageyama nodded. “I know what I want to do, but I’ll need a few new poses.”

“Thank god,” Akaashi sighed. “Hopefully not ones that will make my arms fall off.”

Breakfast was finished hastily, and they once again populated the living room with a sketchbook and one untouched canvas. The first new pose comprised of Akaashi sitting astride a short stack of books, which was only comfortable until his knees began protesting being bent for so long. Next, his head was thrown back, with one hand buried in his hair. This, Akaashi was allowed to do while sitting on a cushion, much to his relief. The artistic value of this pose was dubious, but if Kageyama knew what he needed, Akaashi wasn’t going to question it.

By the time they broke for lunch, Kageyama had filled almost half of his sketchbook. Akaashi burned to see what was stirring inside that strange brain, but he settled for knowing that he would see the final product in three months’ time. He didn’t doubt that Kageyama would even allow him to see the sketches, as well.

Akaashi scraped together lunch, as well, and their work after lunch was mainly Akaashi sitting off to the side, occasionally taking pose requests from Kageyama as he outlined his painting reference on the canvas before finally putting a brush to it. The afternoon dragged for Akaashi, but for Kageyama, it seemed to pass all too quickly as he cursed the lack of adequate light once sundown began to hit.

“Do you want to call it a night?” Akaashi asked, rubbing his lower back after slipping on the robe he had appropriated from Kageyama. “Your eyes have to be tired.”

Kageyama, still in the underwear and T-shirt he slept in, grunted and kept painting. He would sometimes go several minutes between brush strokes, and others he would be attacking the canvas with paint like he had minutes and not days to complete it. Akaashi had never seen anyone work like that before, but Kageyama was not exactly a traditional artist.

Not too fussed about Kageyama ignoring him, Akaashi fished Kageyama’s wallet from the trousers he’d worn the day before and called for delivery. He toyed with the idea of taking a walk to pick it up himself, but he didn’t feel like putting on pants and settled for momentarily embarrassing a delivery driver while answering the door in a bathrobe.

It wasn’t until the smell of curry wafted through the apartment that Kageyama stopped. “Is that from the curry place I have the flyer for on the fridge?” When Akaashi nodded, Kageyama’s face broke out in a small smile. “I love that place.”

Akaashi’s breath failed him when he saw that smile, because he knew that it was rare — a gift he decided to treasure. His limbs overly-warm, Akaashi held out a set of chopsticks until Kageyama moved the painting to the corner and eagerly accepted the offering of food. They sat shoulder to shoulder, eating quietly, but it was not an awkward silence.

When they finished, neither moved to clear the graveyard of empty cartons from the floor in front of them. Instead, Akaashi leaned against Kageyama, whose arm looped around his shoulders. Akaashi marveled at the gesture, because despite his own superior sexual knowledge, Kageyama knew more than Akaashi ever would about affection.

Something ached in Akaashi as he considered Kageyama’s past relationships. With one person for two years and another for five, Kageyama had spent nearly a third of his life in a monogamous relationship; Akaashi had never been in a real relationship. Kageyama’s yearning to express himself to others was nearly eclipsed by Akaashi’s desire to simply touch that level of want. He couldn’t remember the last time he craved something other than food or for the work day to end.

“Kageyama,” Akaashi murmured, his heart beating hard against his ribs. “I want to kiss you.”

Akaashi felt Kageyama tense beside him. “I thought you didn’t see me like that.”

“That’s not what I said,” Akaashi corrected. “I didn’t want to take something from you that wasn’t mine to have. I don’t deserve to be with someone like you.”

Kageyama turned to him. “Why do you say that?” His head tilted to the side as if he really did not see what Akaashi saw when he thought of the two of them together.

Slumping into the sofa, Akaashi said, “Don’t ever mistake sex with love. I might have had a lot of one, but I don’t know anything about the other. You knew more about love in middle school than I have my whole life. I won’t turn you into what I am, because you deserve better than that.”

“I know you don’t love me, Akaashi-san,” Kageyama said. “I don’t love you, either. That doesn’t mean I won’t or can’t, but I don’t expect anything like that from you.”

All the breath in Akaashi’s chest whooshed out at once as Kageyama pulled him onto his lap. He expected the same raw power as the kiss from the night before, but a feather could not have brushed against his lips with less force.

The whisper of Kageyama’s warm breath on Akaashi’s mouth made his skin feel like it wanted to fly away on its own. With a groan, he shot his hands under Kageyama’s shirt and raked his nails over the smooth plane of Kageyama’s chest.

Kageyama gave a needy whine, and Akaashi rewarded the sound by grinding his hips against Kageyama’s lap. Kageyama growled and pulled Akaashi closer to him and buried his face in the curve of Akaashi’s shoulder.

Akaashi couldn’t hold back a moan, but he forced himself to still Kageyama’s roving lips and to look the other man in the eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes,” Kageyama rasped.

That was all Akaashi needed to hear.

 

The weekend finished with a sense of urgency, with Akaashi gently prodding Kageyama into taking meal breaks and to sleep. After their one shared night, something snapped to life in Kageyama. He was up by dawn and didn’t go to bed until past midnight, yet was awake for school well before Akaashi managed to pry himself out of bed.

When their train arrived at the station next to the school, Akaashi hung back and didn’t enter the building until ten minutes after Kageyama did. Saeko greeted him with a cheery smile and a wild gesture, drawing him to her desk.

“Akaashi-kuuuuuun!

Nodding politely, Akaashi gave her a small smile. “How are you, Saeko-san?”

“I tried to call you, but when some random dude answered the phone, I remembered that you didn’t have one.” Saeko took a deep breath. “I found someone who is interested in your work. I showed him your portfolio, and he would like an interview. This afternoon, if you don’t mind staying over.”

Akaashi’s mouth hung open in surprise. “You found me a job?” After the flurry of drawing Kageyama out of his stupor, he had honestly forgotten he had left a copy of his portfolio with Saeko that first day. “I’d love to interview. Where is it?”

Saeko grinned. “A friend of mine from art school works at the Sony offices here in Sendai, and they’re looking to pour some talent into a game-developing company they recently acquired. The hiring manager was actually a fan of the anime you worked on, and he really loved your impressionist art.”

“Really?” Akaashi said with a snort. “A ten-year-old with a box of crayons could have made a better show.”

Snorting, Saeko playfully punched Akaashi in the shoulder. “That’s what I said, but he loved the animation styling and I wasn’t about to talk him out of it.”

Akaashi didn’t know what to say except, “Thank you.” He bowed to her, a genuine sense of gratitude making him want to fall to his knees and grovel at her feet, but he resigned himself to repeating, “Thank you very much. It means a lot to me.”

Throughout his modeling sessions, Akaashi had a hard time schooling his features into the serene expression he had maintained in the previous week. What was even more difficult, however, was keeping his eyes from straying to Kageyama. Inversely, though, Kageyama barely looked up from his canvas.

It felt like a coda to something transient, seeing Kageyama find his inspiration, but Akaashi harbored no illusions that he would be a part of that future. But he was proud of Kageyama. If Akaashi did nothing else important in his life, at least he knew he had done this one thing right.

The interview only lasted about ten minutes, with the bulk of important questions being, “Do you want the job?” and, “When can you start?” Akaashi said yes immediately to the first, but he stalled on the next.

He would have to vacate his current apartment and relocate to Sendai. There was no love lost between Akaashi and either his old apartment or his old job. What would be difficult was the lack of key money for a new place, as well as enough time to go searching for one without being out of work too long to not be able to afford rent right away.

The next few mornings, Akaashi didn’t let on any of these misgivings after informing Saeko that he had accepted. He supposed that Kageyama might be willing to put him up for a while, but he didn’t want to be weird, especially since they hadn’t spoken one-on-one since leaving for the school on Monday morning.

“Ya know,” Saeko said, interrupting Akaashi’s rushing thoughts on that final day of his work at Tohoku, “I’ve got an extra room at my place. My brother stays over every once in a while when he’s convinced his boyfriend’s gonna kick him out, but I think his big sister could convince him to stay in Chikara’s good graces until you can find a place of your own.”

Akaashi wanted to fall at Saeko’s feet for the second time in ten minutes. “Saeko-san, I don’t know what to say?”

“Join me for dinner tonight, and we’ll call it even,” she purred, giving him a not-so-subtle wink.

Doubt crept into Akaashi’s previously great mood. He was sure Saeko was coming on to him, but he didn’t know how to tell her that her brother was more ‘his type’ than she was without hurting her feelings. But he also couldn’t allow her to let a room to him under a false impression, so he swallowed his discomfort and decided to let her down easy.

“Your brother is probably cute, if he looks anything like you, so I think this Chikara could probably be convinced to keep him in his good graces.”

Saeko’s eyes bulged. “Oh!” Her expression melted into a sly smile. “So you swing that way, eh? Let me know if you want a date with a hot guy. My brother’s volleyball team? Gay as hell. Every one of them.” She pointed towards the door. “One of them is even in this class. Kageyama-kun, the grouchy looking one.”

Akaashi could barely reign in his surprise, but he managed to hold it back to a non-committal nod of acknowledgement and a vague, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Throughout the duration of sitting for Kageyama’s class, Akaashi could feel Kageyama looking at him more than he had all week. He got the impression that Kageyama had something he wanted to say, but subtlety wasn’t a strong point for him and Akaashi didn’t know him well enough to develop any sort of non-verbal communication.

Right after class let out, Akaashi gave Kageyama a lingering look and headed towards the bathroom at a deliberately slow pace. They were only halfway there when Kageyama caught up to him.

“I heard you got a job in Sendai,” Kageyama said. “Do you have a place to stay?”

Akaashi nodded. “Yeah. I’m staying with Saeko-san until I can save up for my own place.”

“Good,” Kageyama said with a curt bob of the head. “I hope this job makes you happier.”

“So do I,” Akaashi agreed. “The change in scenery will probably help, too. It already has, in a way.”

“Good,” Kageyama repeated as he looked away. “I want you to be happy, Akaashi-san. I really care about you.”

That statement caused a warm burn to crackle to life in Akaashi’s belly. “And I care about you. I’ll let you know when I get a phone, and I’ll give you my number. We can hang out sometime. I’ll even sit for you if you want.”

Kageyama’s eyes brightened. “I’d like that.”


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written for the 30 Day Kagehina Challenge Day 17: Kageyama tries to be smooth.

The trees on the campus were beginning to bloom under the ministrations of the April rains, but Akaashi didn't mind the contrast of mud and sunshine. After spending his whole life in Tokyo, it was refreshing to smell the clean scent of earth instead of wet garbage.

His acceptance of it may have had something to do with the event at hand, as well. It was the day of graduating art students' final project gallery. The pieces that they had slaved over for a month would be revealed for all to see. And Akaashi, as their live model, had a front row seat for all of them. However, even though the event sparked his interest as an artist, there was only one he refused to leave until he saw it.

Saeko, who gripped his arm as if he were an extension of her purse, jolted him around and cooed, "This is always so exciting! The stuff these kids put out is amazing. From the few I've seen, this is going to be an excellent year."

"Are Chikara and Ryuu coming?" Akaashi asked, sincerely hoping to rely on the sane company of Saeko's brother's boyfriend. In a world of flamboyant personalities and a fair share of melodrama, Ennoshita Chikara had become a fast friend in contrast to the effervescent Tanaka clan. Akaashi had joked with Ryuu once that Chikara was good enough to eat, and Saeko had spent a week mediating the ridiculous feud that had resulted. Had he not respected the fact that Chikara was taken, Akaashi had to admit that the statement would have been more than a little bit in earnest.

But that didn't change the fact that a certain art student occupied Akaashi's imagination more than he was comfortable admitting. If Akaashi hadn't had his new and very time-consuming job to take his mind off of it, Akaashi was sure he would have ended up at Kageyama's apartment, begging for anything he could get. Sex, company, awkward conversation — anything.

And Kageyama would have probably given it to him.

They had not seen each other since that last day of live modeling, and that was a month before. It only took a few pointed inquiries about Kageyama for Saeko to figure out that something had gone on between them. Akaashi had kept the details vague, only revealing that they had had dinner a few times between him helping with Kageyama's color issue and staying at his place when Akaashi was too tired to travel. He wasn't certain if Saeko believed him, but she didn't pry and Akaashi didn't offer.

Chikara had been another story. It took him all of ten minutes to dissect the fleeting relationship Akaashi had had with Kageyama, but he had merely warned of Kageyama's lack of interpersonal skills and not to expect too much.

All Akaashi expected of Kageyama on this day was to be there. He was under no illusion that Kageyama wanted to further what they had started on that weekend, even if he found himself pining for it just when he thought he’d banished those thoughts. Akaashi simply isn’t boyfriend material. Kageyama wasn’t either, but not as irredeemably so as Akaashi reckoned himself to be.

Word spread through the small crowd that Fujita-sensei’s welcoming speech was about to start, so Akaashi followed Saeko to the seats she had saved for them, all the while scanning the room for Kageyama. He knew he was frowning when he noticed that Kageyama was conspicuously absent.

“Looking for someone?” Chikara whispered, his smile giving away the rhetorical nature of the question.

Akaashi didn’t bother hiding what he was doing from Chikara. “Why isn’t he here?”

Chikara shrugged. “He already graduated. He technically doesn’t have to be here.”

 _But I want him to be_ , Akaashi whined to himself.

Forcing himself to listen to Fujita’s speech about blossoming talent and a few other things Akaashi didn’t care about, Akaashi continued to glance around to see if Kageyama would show up. Kageyama wasn’t the type of person to be late; he complained when he was only ten minutes early for class. If he wasn’t there already, Akaashi had the sinking feeling that he was not coming at all.

At last, the gallery room was opened for viewing. Akaashi braced himself to look at the various and probably strange interpretations of himself that awaited him. He was not wrong.

The first piece was a clay bust of his upper body, with his head down and arms extended. Akaashi didn’t see much resemblance, but at least it was just the top half of him. He wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of having a replica of his junk on display for people to see while he was in the room. The abs were nice, though.

There were a few portraits of him doing various things, as well as a twisted metal sculpture that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how he inspired it. Unless it was supposed to signify a train wreck, which anyone who talked to him about his life would probably notice in three minutes or less.

He knew he’d know it when he saw it.

Akaashi’s breath caught in his throat when he saw a portrait of himself, which was a rather stunning likeness. His arms were splayed wide, head thrown back as high, monstrous waves curled behind him in obedience. A toga was draped over one shoulder, while a laurel wreath rested upon his brow.

“Oh, wow!” said someone over Akaashi’s shoulder. It took him a few seconds to recognize the voice as Chikara’s. “That’s gorgeous.”

What struck Akaashi the most were the colors. The hues darted throughout the water were in harmony, and the blues and greens and grays screamed of the power of those waves. He didn’t know what changed between purple sky and this masterpiece, but Akaashi felt a rush of pride that Kageyama was able to put this together, let alone in only a month.

The placard below the painting simply said, “Kageyama Tobio presents _Neptune_.” Akaashi felt a smile spread across his face at the idea of himself being depicted as a Roman deity, when Kageyama didn’t even know of his actual Italian heritage. Perhaps Kageyama wasn’t as unperceptive as he acted, after all.

Akaashi couldn’t stop looking at the portrait. His attention was so cemented on it that when arms wrapped around his waist from behind, he started and felt the back of his head collide with something soft. When the swearing started, he whipped around to see Kageyama clutching his nose, which was thankfully not bleeding.

“God, you scared me to death!” Akaashi scolded breathlessly. “Why did you do that, and where the hell have you _been_?”

Kageyama blinked at Akaashi before averting his gaze. “I was trying to be, um . . .” A blush crept over his cheeks.

When Akaashi cottoned on to what Kageyama was trying to say, he couldn’t stifle a chuckle. “You are as smooth as broken glass, Kageyama.” A smile still lingering, he gently touched Kageyama’s red, irritated nose. “Doesn’t look broken. Let that be a lesson to you.”

Kageyama reddened even more as he sputtered an apology. Akaashi found that he enjoyed Kageyama’s embarrassment far too much to stop it. It was only when Kageyama fell silent that Akaashi stroked Kageyama’s flaming cheek and murmured, “I missed you.”

“Yeah,” Kageyama said through a groan that shuddered through Akaashi’s body before talented hands framed his jaw and lips were on his.

Akaashi knew people were staring, but he didn’t care. There had been more than a few waking dreams about that one night he had spent with Kageyama. Not because it was amazing lovemaking; Kageyama had been a fumbling virgin, after all. It haunted him because he wanted more than he knew he deserved. He wanted to wake up to this because the one taste he had had of it was intoxicating.

It was Akaashi who broke their publically intimate moment first. “We can’t do this here.”

Kageyama’s forehead rested on his. “I know.”

A throat cleared behind them. Akaashi blushed when he realized that Chikara was still right there. “I’m sorry, Chikara. I don’t usually do PDA.”

Chikara chortled before slapping Kageyama on the shoulder. “How are you doing, by the way? It’s been a while.”

“Captain-san!” Kageyama yelped, standing up straight. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Chikara said, “Oh, I’m not your captain anymore. We’re both adults, so we can probably drop the formalities.”

His back still rigid, Kageyama yelped, “Ossu!”

If he hadn’t seen it for himself, Akaashi would have laughed at the idea of someone as easy-going as Chikara intimidating someone as crusty as Kageyama. He couldn’t help the rush of affection at the sight of it, of _him_.

And god was it cute.

Akaashi linked his arm with Kageyama’s. “It’s beautiful, by the way. The colors are amazing, and the detail is incredible. I knew you could do it.”

Kageyama stammered something Akaashi couldn’t quite make out, but it almost didn’t matter. He was there. Kageyama was right there and still interested, and Akaashi was just selfish enough to want anything he was willing to give. With a sigh, his hand slid down Kageyama’s arm and linked their fingers together. “How about dinner afterwards? My treat, of course.”

How he hadn’t known that Kageyama blushed so much, Akaashi didn’t know, but he really wanted to see what else would make his face turn scarlet. Thoughts not fit for public were already rushing through his mind as he squeezed Kageyama’s hand and continued to make his rounds through the exhibit.

There were a few other notable appearances of Akaashi’s face. One was a looping cartoon of him waltzing with a girl he didn’t recognize, then a comic panel of him making snarky comments about passers-by in the park while sitting on a bench (Akaashi couldn’t help but smile at that), and even a portrait of him wearing makeup and women’s clothing.

Next to him, Kageyama grumbled, “Morons.”

Akaashi elbowed him. “What? It’s funny.”

“But that dress is awful! It looks like a tent.”

Chuckling, Akaashi shook his head and tugged Kageyama along until they finished looking at everything at least twice. Akaashi always lingered an extra moment when they passed by _Neptune_ , wanting to take the painting and abscond with it. He didn’t even care how narcissistic it probably was to want to keep a painting of oneself; it was a masterpiece.

Soon, the gathering disbursed, and Akaashi informed Saeko, who had given him a ride to the event, that he would not be accompanying her home. She gave him a wolfish grin and some inappropriate encouragement, and Akaashi was soon sitting on a train with Kageyama once again. It was like the past month had not even passed, and Akaashi wondered if anything else between them remained the same.

They shared a quiet meal at a Chinese place near Kageyama’s apartment, but it was a peaceable silence. It wasn’t until they left the place that Akaashi wondered where he was supposed to go next. However, Kageyama had an answer for that already.

“I have something I want to show you,” Kageyama said as he gestured towards the sidewalk leading to his place. Akaashi followed, a cocktail of anticipation and curiosity writhing in his belly.

Thankfully, Kageyama had not kicked the maid out again, and the apartment only smelled like paints instead of dirty dishes. It almost looked like a different place. But the tell-tale signs of the resident artist were tucked into various places. A sketchbook and a few pencils on top of the kotatsu. An easel draped against the wall, and a canvas propped up next to it with the back facing out.

Akaashi was curious and drifted towards the canvas to see if there was anything on it. If _Neptune_ was any indication of Kageyama’s personal renaissance, he wanted to see more of this new phase.

However, Kageyama’s hand stilled his. “This was what I wanted to show you. It’s what I was painting while you were here, but I . . . I didn’t want anyone else but you and me to see it. It felt too personal to share. The other one was what I did during class just to get something put out.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened in surprise. If the gorgeous sea god work was a fallback, then what could Kageyama possibly think surpassed it?

Slowly, Kageyama turned the canvas, and Akaashi was robbed of his ability to breathe for the second time that night.

One hand was plunged into disheveled locks while the other was wound around a torso arching back in pleasure, nails digging into the skin. He could almost feel the moan coming from that face contorted in pleasure, but once he saw the lower half of the portrait, something inside of Akaashi trembled.

The figure on the painting was Kageyama, deep in the throes of pleasure, while he was riding Akaashi’s cock.

Akaashi took his first breath since Kageyama revealed his artwork, and it rattled out of him almost like a cough. The signature at the bottom read: _Awakening_. Akaashi thought he was going to die right on the spot.

Beside him, Kageyama fidgeted nervously, and Akaashi wanted to deeply reward him for never letting anyone else see this painting. Not because it wasn’t beautiful — it was incredibly well done — but because it oozed intimacy and promise and Akaashi could feel himself getting hard just looking at it.

“It’s beautiful,” Akaashi finally managed to say, holding onto Kageyama’s arm tightly. “I can’t believe you painted this.”

What Akaashi almost said but didn’t was that he was amazed that Kageyama was finally able to see himself like this. Vitally, intimately, vibrantly _erotic_. That pleasure was not taboo or beyond him, that he deserved to have it.

His face surprisingly not red, Kageyama took Akaashi’s hands in his and faced him, biting his lower lip. “After we talked, Hinata called me a week after you left. He said I changed and that he liked how I changed. He asked me . . . he asked if we could give it another try.”

Akaashi felt a shiver at this. He hadn’t considered the ramifications of urging Kageyama to talk to his ex-boyfriend because he hadn’t considered the concept of it making him jealous at the time. However, standing here in front of an erotic candid of him and Kageyama, Akaashi knew he was jealous. Jealous that Hinata still had a place in Kageyama’s life, even though they had been friends before anything, and jealous that Akaashi was the outsider and would most certainly lose when compared to the love of Kageyama’s life.

“I said no.”

“What?” The word slipped out of Akaashi of its own accord, and it was wrapped in much more than a simple question. He acknowledged that it meant Kageyama had moved completely past not only his coloring issue, but his problems with intimacy and motivation for what he had chosen to do with his life. Kageyama was an artist now, not because he went to school for it, but because he took his life and transformed it into art.

What Akaashi really wanted to know in that simple word was what his place was in this new life Kageyama had breathed into himself.

Kageyama, seemingly incognizant of the mental gymnastics taking place in Akaashi’s head, shrugged. “He asked if I still love him, and I guess I do, but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Like how you love a place you don’t go anymore, but you don’t go back because you don’t want how you feel about it to change.” With a frown, he looked towards Akaashi. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi gasped, still waging a war in his brain over what this all meant for him.

He almost missed Kageyama looking at him nervously before averting his gaze. “I know you don’t think of me like that, but I think it’s because I’m in love with you, Akaashi-san.”

Akaashi didn’t think twice before crushing Kageyama to the wall for a sweltering kiss. It was more than he had hoped for when Kageyama’s fingers clenched Akaashi’s ass and picked him up completely. With a groan, Akaashi wrapped his legs around Kageyama’s waist, and they slowly stumbled into the bedroom.

It was only when the last article of clothing between the two of them had been stripped away that Kageyama faltered and looked questioningly at Akaashi. “Akaashi-san, do you love me?”

The question did not come as a surprise, but the answer was one Akaashi had considered heavily since he realized he was attracted to Kageyama in more than a physical capacity. The answer to it had eluded him until he had seen the painting. Not the sea god one, but the one of the two of them together. It was, indeed, an awakening, but not just in Kageyama’s acceptance of his sexuality or his ability to go for what made him happy; Akaashi felt like it was meant for him, as well.

Akaashi gave Kageyama a tender smile and stroked his cheek. “I have a lot of things to learn about what that means, but I think I do. Can you accept that from me for now?”

Kageyama answered with a groan and another kiss.

As they melded together under the strength of this new bond between them, Akaashi marveled at how fate worked. All the mistakes he had made in his life had brought him to this place and time and person. One missed turn and they would never have met. Yet here they were, limbs mingling under a blanket of sweat and desire.

Akaashi wouldn’t take back a minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. I didn't know I needed this pairing until I started writing it. I hope you found something to enjoy about it. This was fun to do, and I'm not averse to writing these two together again.


End file.
